


Double Edged Sword

by djarum99



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djarum99/pseuds/djarum99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/hseas_challenge/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/hseas_challenge/"><b>hseas_challenge</b></a> prompt #2 - hurt/comfort. This is set in my <i>December's Children</i> universe, but it reads as a standalone. Jack being Jack, and J/E being J/E :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Edged Sword

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current location:** |  [Tuesday](http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Tuesday)  
---|---  
**Current mood:** |   
sleepy  
**Current music:** | Raising Sand  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [hseas_challenge](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/hseas_challenge), [j/e](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/j/e), [post-awe](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/tag/post-awe)  
  
  
_**Fic: Double Edged Sword**_  
**Title:** _Double Edged Sword_  
**Author:** [](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/profile)[**djarum99**](http://djarum99.livejournal.com/)  
**Rating:** R  
**Pairing:** J/E   
**Disclaimer:** Disney owns, I make no profit

During the four months of Jack Sparrow's absence, his daughter substituted running for a nursling's drunken sway, added the word "bloody" to her vocabulary - much to her mother's dismay - and acquired two new teeth. Teague presented her with an ashiko drum, braided gold into her storm cloud hair, lulled her to sleep with songs of pagan gods and human folly.

The morning that news of Jack's return reached the Hall in icy whispers, Elizabeth left Rosalind to her grandfather's keeping, and descended alone to the pier. The sea demanded tribute, willing sacrifice from those she favoured. Rumour had it that this time, Jack had paid dear.

Not the first time he's come back damaged, as she has herself, wearing scars that darken his eyes, set his hands to mapping her skin, a calloused search for lifelines, reassurance.

_"Best pray for patronage, Bess, to every deity that takes a passing interest. For both of us."_

Jack lurches to her side with the aid of a fine-carved rosewood cane, the linen binding his chest stark as moonlight on dark water. A black satin patch obscures his left eye.

"Only half as bad as it looks, Lizzie - trust me, and keep your tongue soft for a man who's suffered and lived to tell it. Keep it soft, and use it proper - I've not touched a woman in months..."

He kisses her, nothing wrong with his lawless mouth, and she winds her hands in his hair to make it last, silence questions, hide her fear. He kisses her, hardens at the scent of her skin, tosses his thanks to the gods for their leavings, for not stealing more than pain and blood, their pitiless bosun's share.

She feels him sway, releases him with a fair wind smile but keeps her arm anchored tight at his waist.

"If it's been _less_ than four months, Jack, I don't want to know. Rum first, or our bed?"

"Both, love, as long as you're of a mind to dispense strong drink and hot sweet sympathy. Simultaneously, and for at least three days running."

He cups her arse, ripened by his daughter's entrance into the world. The Brethren's King allows it, silently negotiating ragtag clumps of Shipwreck's populace, their stares and murmurs, her gaze locked straight ahead. Jack regales her with a chronicle of squalls conquered, prey lost, the bounty of spice and sandalwood piled high in the _Pearl's_ dark hold, anything to steady her trembling hands and banish the dread from her eyes.

Elizabeth ignores each wince, the tight line of his jaw, bracing herself against his weight as they mount the steps leading to a reckoning - the extent of the damage and the story behind it, at least as true as Jack will tell it.

Their rooms sit high above the harbour, a dusty falcon's aerie. Sunlight finds diamonds in the flaws of ancient glass, flows amber in the planes of his face, sparks fire in Elizabeth's narrowed eyes. She shoves him into a chair, no longer gentle, and kneels to pull off his boots.

"Could get used to this, you playin' the wench. Easy, now - have a care for a man sorely wounded."

"Charlatan."

Jack studies the flush rising to stain her cheeks, and sighs in surrender when she straddles his lap, slips her hands beneath his braids, unlaces his black deception. His grin spreads bright and shameless, the danger astride his lap failing to curb delight in her cunning.

"How long have you known, Lizzie?"

"Since we passed the alehouse and you turned to ogle Molly Tyner. Turned to your _left,_ spry as a jigging sailor. This-" she dangles the black patch beneath his nose "-is Ragetti's, and there's not a scratch on either leg. If the rest isn't real I may hurt you myself."

Her fingers tug at the linen binding his chest, reach for his dagger to slit the bandage with impatient efficiency.

"Careful, sweeting - I'm rather fond of that particular pound of flesh, and both me nipples. Though not as fond as I am of yours."

Testing troubled waters, Jack delves beneath her tunic, a brush of his thumbs eliciting a sharp hiss; she freezes, her stony gaze fixed on the last bloodied layer of cloth.

"How bad? And why play me for a fool?"

Taking his bearings from the needle of her index finger, the question digging sharp at his ribs, he lifts his hips in a strategic grind against points south and centre. The corners of her mouth twitch north, but she refuses to yield.

"Not a fool, Lizzie, never that, and I see I've taught you well. Eyes like a cormorant, and not half as trusting."

"You give yourself too much credit, Jack Sparrow, as always. Your vanity seems quite intact - and somehow I'm reassured. Tell me why."

The knife in her hand trails his collarbone, circles the burn of a lucky shot, grazes the tender pulse fluttering blue beneath his jaw. Jack leans into the blade, grinds against her once more, feels her shudder.

"Thought the rest might pale in the light of your relief, your gratitude in finding beauty unscathed, the goods intact, my devilish gaze unaltered. Drink me in, darlin', carpe diem, gather ye rosebuds - preferably with both hands, preferably _now._"

Another kiss, rendered graceless by her muffled protest, but she allows his hands to wander, relieve her of weapons and shirt. Four months in an empty bed, his scent of wind and salt, the silk enticement of his tongue...rocking against him, she lets herself drift, skin to skin, delaying the sight of her rival's toll. Jack Sparrow loves the sea, and one day the sea will take him - will claim them both, together or alone.

The wound is half-healed, a taunt carved deep in the form of a cross, just above his heart. Jack lies quiet between her thighs, muscles tensed to deflect her response.

"Who did this to you? How? They must have...held you down. Jack-"

"A brief encounter with one of our own, and a minor dispute over territory. Second month gone, we'd just arrived in Mogadishu - went trawling for news of the merchant trade, and snared a shark instead. Six of them, Arévalo's men, and... Gibbs turned up, him what did the cutting is dead, and that branch you're perched on, pigeon, is in dire need of trimming. Show some mercy, Bess, if ever you-"

"He's dead?"

"Aye. Happened slow."

The heat in his eyes flares for her, she's certain, not a memory sparked in the killing stones of some distant mud-brick alley. Jack's never been that kind of man, at least no longer than he need be.

"One day you won't run fast enough or far enough to pace the devil."

"Are you implying I'm growing old, Bess?"

"I'm saying that I want you to."

Leaning in, her lips trace the wound's jagged edge, and Jack tightens his grip at her waist, swallows a groan. The charade hasn't worked half as well as he'd hoped, but she's with him, warm and fierce; the joy of their game has never been in winning. She stands, turns to walk towards their bed, and he catches at her wrist, pulls her back.

"Here."

Half-lidded, shrouded in night wing kohl, Jack's eyes follow her movements as she strips off her breeches, frees him from his own, lowers herself to take him in a wanton dancer's glide. His head falls back to bare his throat, and her fingertip finds the hollow, the pulse of their joined magic. This, this heat, the sweat that slicks their bodies, borrows gold from the setting sun - it is the sum of what they are, and a fraction, too much and never enough.

Jack watches her break, braces her as she trembles, eyes intent on his face. He knows what she means to do even before she struggles against him, gripping his shoulders and urging him towards release.

"I want this. Please, Jack..."

He spends inside her, holds her long after evening shadows wash the room. In the morning, their daughter will find them abed, scatter laughter like roses, and tug at her father's hand. Jack will take her aboard the _Pearl_, turn her loose to burrow in crates of cardamom and nutmeg, carry her home smelling of exotic ports and sunshine. Rosalind will beg for tales of mermaids, and wear the trinkets he gives her for weeks.

Too much, and never enough. Tomorrow will come, they will sail again, and one day the sea will take them. Elizabeth will number his scars, and Jack will keep count of hers - Teague will keep his own council, his music and the Code.

Their son is born in summer twilight, as the swallows call the stars.

 

_The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder._ ~ Virginia Woolf

[ ](http://www.maploco.com/view.php?id=3142209)   
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